


soon you'll be

by ephemeralsky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate POVs, Crack, Fukurodani Volleyball Club - Freeform, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, but not really because my sense of humor is crappy, that "everybody loves akaashi" fic, this is tagged as bokuaka but it's only mentioned towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralsky/pseuds/ephemeralsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Komi smacks his palm against his forehead, Sarukui throws his head back and sighs, Washio runs a hand down his face, Onaga exhales loudly through his nostrils and shakes his head, and Konoha clicks his tongue. </p><p>Bokuto glances around curiously, discombobulated at the reactions.</p><p>Konoha slouches over and leans in closer, flicking the flashlight on and off to punctuate his words. “You,” he says, “are an idiot.”</p><p>(or: The Fukurodani VBC regulars recount the memorable instances that they've shared with Akaashi and gang up on Bokuto)</p>
            </blockquote>





	soon you'll be

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: i may or may not have a crush on my setter

Onaga, with his gangly frame and long face, bolts out of the classroom and barrels up the stairs to find recluse in the safe quarters of the abandoned storeroom on the topmost floor of the school building.

He closes the door behind him with a loud thud and slides down to the floor in a crumpled mess of teenage angst and scrawny limbs.

He takes in a deep breath and thinks about how he can’t wait to graduate and get out of that hellhole. He wonders if high school is going to be the same.

It isn’t.

High school is far away from home and far away from the familiar faces, and it’s very close to new opportunities.

A sport. Yeah, he should try to join a sports club. Preferably, something that isn’t basketball. The bruises on his knees and arms haven’t healed yet, and he doesn’t want to go anywhere near a basketball player for as long as his high school career will last.

The scrape and squeak of sneakers against the parquet gym floor and the incessant thumping of balls slamming against deft arms and hard floors beckon him. He peeks through the gap of the gym doors and guesses that they’re playing volleyball. Or is it netball? Is there any difference?

“Excuse me.”

He whips around, hands flying up in surrender.

“A first-year?” A contemplative hum and scrutinizing eyes beneath a head of black curls.

“We could really use a tall player. Come inside. We’re about to start drilling with the first-years.” A pause at the door and a considerate gesture.

“No pressure, though.” Heavy-lidded eyes and a tiny, imperceptible smile.

Onaga spends the next two years of high school with him, following every orders and heeding every advice, up to the moment when he grows into the lanky limbs and learns how to use them, and up till the time when he gets used to his too-long face and learns to accept that some people mistakenly call him Omonaga-kun out of pure ignorance and not out of spite.

When the third years retire from the team, Onaga finds himself alone in the changing room with the only second year that stands among the regulars.

Black curls and heavy-lidded eyes.

“Onaga.”

“Yes, Akaashi-san?”

“I’m really glad you decided to follow me into the gym that day.”

The scrape and squeak of sneakers against the parquet gym floor and the incessant thumping of balls slamming against deft arms, gym walls, and hard floors, the spirited shouts and jeers of encouragement, the tears of the defeated, and the clamor of the victorious – they beckon him.

*

Komi drops his head on the table, heaving a sigh.

“What’s got you so down?” Sarukui turns his chair around and props an elbow on Komi’s desk, his chin on his hand. “It’s only the first day of school, too.”

Komi, forehead still attached to the desk, mumbles, “Yaku texted me this morning to tell me that he grew 4 millimeters.”

“I thought you didn’t care much about your height?” Sarukui sounds genuinely confused. “And why do you guys feel the need to report your growth to each other anyway?”

“I don’t. Not really,” he mutters, “And it’s a not-tall-guys-thing.” He snaps his head up, slamming his fists against the desk. “But this isn’t about vertical prowess!”

“It’s not?”

Komi shakes his head. “No! It’s about respect!”

“Okay…?”

“Listen, we’re second-years now, and a bunch of freshmen will be joining the team. Once they see their vertically-inept senior, they’ll think “Who’s this short monkey here?” and start getting ideas that they can push me around just because they’re taller!” Komi grinds his teeth after finishing his rant.

Sarukui almost laughs. “Komi, Hatano-senpai is shorter than you and no one’s ever pushed him around.”

Komi considers this. Their current official libero is certainly shorter than he is, and everyone respects him just the same. Sarukui makes a pretty strong case, damn him.

Sarukui’s rationalization doesn’t stop Komi from glaring at the first-years who’ve lined up in front of the current members though, and Sarukui elbows him in the ribs.

The new members of the club are asked to practice spiking after they finish running ten laps around the gym so that they can be evaluated, but out of the corner of his eye, Komi detects Bokuto dragging an expressionless first-year to the other side of the court and he hears bouts of “You just have to toss to me!!” and “You can spike with the others later, this is more urgent!!”

Komi narrows his eyes at the tall first-year. The nerve of him.

Bokuto hollers for him to come over, and Komi begrudgingly joins them.

Later, when it’s time to clean up, the first-year who has the audacity to be taller than Komi comes up to him, bowing. “Thank you for your hard work. I hope you’ll continue to help me with my receives from now on.”

The new-comer is still bowing, and Komi, proud and pleased, ruffles his hair. “Of course I’ll help you! I’m your senior after all,” he gloats, and what was he worried about again? Disrespectful juniors? Short monkeys?

It becomes sort of a habit after that. Each time he sees Akaashi, Komi would greet him with a bright grin and a ruffle of his hair, Akaashi inclining his head a little for easy access, and Komi never notices how Sarukui gives Akaashi a thumbs up and a firm nod whenever he stumbles upon the repetitive scene.

*

“Tat-chan!”

Washio turns around to see his mother jogging up to him, carrying his lunchbox.

“You forgot your lunch,” his mother wheezes as she hands him the forgotten item, and Washio immediately feels bad.

“Sorry,” he says, and he means it.

His mother brushes it off with a smile and a shooing motion.

When he’s a few blocks away from school, a boy canons into his shoulder and while he suffers very little damage, the boy stumbles backwards, the impact sending him to the ground.

Washio bends down and offers a hand to help the boy up, but he instead receives a terrified look and a stuttered apology, and he blinks as the boy, a student from his school, dashes away from him.

Washio frowns.

It’s not like this has never happened before. He hates to admit it, but he’s sent both girls and guys crying and running away from him with just one look. He’s been told that it’s because of his sturdy and huge frame, along with his permanent scowl.

He grunts deprecatingly at this. He does _not_ have a permanent scowl. He just – well, he just doesn’t smile that often.

“Washio-san.”

Washio is jolted out of his thoughts by the voice. When he turns around, Akaashi is staring at the lunchbox in his hand.

Akaashi Keiji. First-year. Setter. Very smart. And very skilled at handling Bokuto.

Washio hasn’t really talked to him that much outside of practice, but he’s heard the coaches talking about Akaashi being a good candidate for vice-captain next year.

Washio also knows that Akaashi doesn’t really smile, because he’s never seen him do so and he once had to listen to Bokuto’s complaints about how Akaashi’s lips would never even twitch when Bokuto cracks jokes, not even when he’s teamed up with Komi or Nekoma’s Kuroo to set up the gags and deliver the punch lines. Washio respects him a lot for that.

Akaashi’s eyes are still riveted to his bento, and Washio clears his throat, hefting his bag over his shoulder and gripping onto the strap.

“Morning, Akaashi.”

Akaashi finally looks at Washio and tips his head downwards a little, replying with a succinct “Good morning.”

They both fall silent, and Akaashi’s gaze goes back to Washio’s lunchbox.

“You…are you okay?” Washio asks, because he’s not really sure why Akaashi has taken such a keen and unwavering interest on his food. Is he hungry?

“It’s cute,” Akaashi says.

Washio’s eyebrows crumple together over the bridge of his nose. What? What is this kid talking about?

Then his eyes land on the panda-patterned cloth that’s wrapped and tied neatly around his bento.

Oh. Right.

Washio doesn’t think he’s capable of blushing, but he’s sure that his face is beet red at that moment judging from the heat that’s creeping across his cheeks.

Akaashi studies Washio’s face, and Washio prepares himself for the upcoming attack. He’s sure that he’s going to be made fun of. No one – aside from his teammates – has ever really teased him about it before, but that’s because he’s already told his mother – albeit sadly and painfully – to stop using it some time ago. Did she forget about it?

“It suits you,” Akaashi comments, expression neutral.

Washio’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “It does?”

Akaashi nods, and starts walking, Washio falling into step with him as they finish their walk to school.

Washio gingerly places his lunch box in his school bag, eyes flitting towards Akaashi once in a while, his mind reeling. Most people would think that such a cute animal themed design contrasts spectacularly with his surly appearance.

“You don’t think I look scary?”

Oops. Okay. That question isn’t supposed to be said out loud.

Akaashi tilts his head to the side, his pace unfaltering.

“I don’t,” he answers easily.  

Eyes widened, Washio stares at his underclassman. Before he knows it, he feels his lips quirk upwards into a smile.

They continue walking, and when Washio darts a sideways glance, the merest curve of Akaashi’s lips tells him that the setter is smiling too.

*

Sarukui splashes his face with a generous amount of water, pressing his palms into his eyes until he feels the throb in his head recede into an irritating buzz. He turns the tap off and wipes his face with the sleeves of his shirt when a towel is handed to him.

He looks up at Akaashi, as indifferent as ever, and accepts the towel.

Sarukui makes a point of not looking at Akaashi’s eyes as they both stand outside the gym under the scorching sun, the rustling of the leaves filling out the silence when a breeze blows over them.

“You’re worried about something.”

Sarukui freezes, swiveling his gaze slowly towards Akaashi. The way he stated his words, in a matter-of-fact and monotonous fashion, is so much like him that Sarukui finds himself wondering – as he always does – as to how Akaashi would make a follow-up to further elaborate the implication of his statements. Akaashi is quite a hard person to read, and Sarukui is always fascinated by the words that fall from his mouth.

“Everyone thinks that you’re laid-back because you seem to smile all the time, but you’ve missed most of my tosses today,” Akaashi continues, his left hand curled around his right fingers and rubbing them, expression unchanging.

Sarukui chuckles. “Sharp as ever, Akaashi.” That’s what he says, but he’s rather surprised that someone has picked up on his bad mood – no one ever does. The perpetual upward curve of his mouth might have something to do with that.

“Do you…” Akaashi still looks very calm, but he brings his eyes away from Sarukui’s face when he continues his question, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sarukui’s breath stills and he wonders if he’s heard that right.

Akaashi lightly scuffs the dirt under his feet with his shoes, left hand still furling and unfurling around his right fingers and kneading them. “I’m sorry. That must be weird and a little out of line. You can just –”

“No!” Sarukui is quick to correct him, “No, it’s not out of line at all. You’re the vice-captain after all,” he grins for reassurance, and he sees Akaashi’s shoulders relax and droop down a little.

For all of his cool demeanor, Akaashi is still a kid after all, who evidently doesn’t feel very comfortable in getting too friendly and open with others, and Sarukui finds this to be both cute and amusing.

He drapes the towel over his shoulder and scratches his scalp, trying to stall for time as he figures out what to say next.

“Well, it’s nothing big,” he looks up towards the sky to calculate his words, “I’m just worried about the normal, mundane high school stuff, y’know?”

He shrugs, one shoulder flicking up then down, and lists off some of the things that hold his mind captive. “Homework, volleyball, finding a job after graduation… I mean, I worry about these kinds of stuff too, despite how I look.” The last part is meant as a jest to lighten the mood, but Sarukui immediately bites the inside of his cheek and regrets saying it, because Akaashi’s eyebrows dip and his expression turns into one of serious deliberation as he considers his senior’s words.

“Hey, no need to worry about it,” Sarukui says, hands waving around in his frantic attempt to mend the situation, “This isn’t something you should bother yourself to –”

“I may sound presumptuous, but please let me know if there’s anything I could do to help. I’m not sure if you even need the help of someone like myself, but don’t hold yourself back if you ever do.”

Akaashi’s expression has reverted back to how it always is; placid and aloof, but his tone is corroded with the subtlest hint of uncertainty, probably traced back to the sense of helplessness that he feels for not knowing how to provide assistance to Sarukui.

Sarukui blinks, and the upward arc of his lips grows more prominent until it stretches into a genuine smile.

He pats Akaashi’s head and tousles his hair, and a startled grunt can be heard from the back of Akaashi’s throat.

“Thanks, Akaashi,” he says, and Akaashi looks at him for a while, lips slightly parted, before nodding and giving a small smile of his own.

Sarukui retracts his hand, the soft swirls of Akaashi’s hair leaving a pleasant sensation on the tips of his fingers and the patch of skin on his palm, the feeling lingering there until he closes his hand into a fist. He sort of understands why Komi is always so eager to ruffle Akaashi’s hair.

*

Crushing the empty juice box with his hand and tossing it aside, Konoha reclines and stretches his body, legs spread and arms folded underneath his head. The earphones plugged in his ears are blaring some “bubblegum pop shit” – as Komi has eloquently put it – and he hums along to the upbeat tune of the song, eyes slowly closing, his consciousness drifting away like the wisps of clouds that swim in the azure blue of the sky above him.

Wow, he thinks, he should write that down because damn, that sounded really poetic.

The door that connects the rooftop to the building opens abruptly and slams against the wall, jostling Konoha out of his semi-consciousness and eliciting a “Holy crap!” out of him. He instantly sits up, preparing to give the bastard that’s disturbing his peace some stink eye and his most menacing scowl.  

But no, the only thing he manages to conjure is a pair of widened eyes and a gaping mouth when he sees a bedraggled Akaashi, uniform rumpled and hair more disheveled than usual.

Akaashi returns the surprised look, but hastily turns away, raking a hand through his hair to make it seem tamer and huffing a breath that indicates he ran up the stairs before blasting the poor door open.

Konoha rips out the earbuds and waits as Akaashi pulls down his sweater by the hem and tugs his blazer by the collar before buttoning it all the way down.

It’s winter, and while Konoha usually spends lunchtime with his classmates, he feels particularly miffed that day because he’s been reminded yet again during morning practice that Bokuto is an idiot who is actually a genius in his own brand if people look at him from a slightly tilted angle, and as such, Konoha has empirically predicted that his tolerance meter could only be cooled down by spending some time alone on the rooftop during break if he were to attend afternoon practice in a good mood. No one ever really goes to the rooftop during winter, which is why he’s still staring at his underclassman and anticipating an explanation of sorts.

“Konoha-san,” Akaashi says when he’s resumed his customary look of apathy, “What are you doing up here?”

Konoha’s mouth twitches into a grin at the irony. He’s waiting for clarification but he’s probably just as liable to be demanded of reason as to why he’s spending lunchtime outside in the middle of winter.

“Just hanging around. What about you, Akaashi?”

Akaashi’s lips are pressed into a thin line as he trains his gaze downwards, tucking a lock of his hair behind an ear, and if Konoha wasn’t intrigued before, he is now.

“Hey,” he says, “Come here.” Konoha pats the spot next to him. “Sit down and tell your senpai what’s the problem.”

Of course, he’s doing this because it’s not a regular occurrence to witness an edgy Akaashi, and he wants a first-row view of it.

Akaashi’s forehead is touched with a frown.

“Akaashi,” Konoha drones, “Come on. Talk to me.”

Akaashi sighs, a puff of white mist gliding through his lips and disappearing into the cold air, before he strides to where Konoha is sitting cross legged on the ground, and a look of hesitance flashes through his features.

Konoha grabs his wrist and hauls him down, begetting a shocked sound from Akaashi.

“Now tell me, my dear junior and fellow volleyball teammate, what’s got you so muddled on this fine winter day?”

Akaashi avoids looking at him, but Konoha can see that his composure is crumbling at the seams, judging from the way his eyebrows quiver from his struggle to keep the frown and unease from being too obvious.

Konoha is still holding Akaashi’s wrist, and he notices, for the first time, that Akaashi is rather thin for someone his height. The sleeves of his sweater peek out from underneath the blazer, bagging up half his hands up until the knuckles, and accentuate the slenderness of his long fingers. Konoha’s grip tightens a little as his fingers circle around Akaashi’s wrist, his thumb meeting the pads of his index and middle fingers, and he concludes that yes, Akaashi is a bit too skinny even though he’s tall, the sinewy muscles of his legs making up most of the tautness of his athletic features and consequently bringing others’ attentions away from the slimness of his arms and waist.

“Konoha-san.”

Akaashi is looking at him now, slightly confused.

Konoha quickly lets go of his wrist and looks away, scratching his cheek and focusing his gaze skywards. He hopes Akaashi doesn’t figure out that he’s been sort of checking him out.

“A-anyway. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. Let’s just enjoy the weather together, yeah?” Konoha falls onto his back again, hands locked behind his head and serving as a pillow.

Akaashi narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t you think it’s a bad idea to lie around outside when it’s this cold?”

Konoha throws his a cocky grin. “No worries, I can withstand the cold. I’m not that weak.”

A gust of blistering wind sweeps over them, and Konoha subsequently sneezes.

Konoha sniffs and rubs his ruddy nose, pursing his lips when Akaashi gives him a flat look.

“Well, there’s only a few minutes left till the next period starts. Wouldn’t hurt to stay here for a bit longer,” he mutters. “You’re taking refuge up here too, right? Let’s savor the moment,” he placates.

His eyes fall shut, and a few moments later he hears a rustling of movements. He cracks an eye open and sees that Akaashi has also lain down beside him, arms on his sides and legs stretched out.

Konoha ignores the smile that’s tugging at his own lips and proceeds to take a nap.

*

“Akaashi? Can you come with us? We need your help.”

The two female managers poke their heads from behind the door to the changing room just as Akaashi slips his arms through the sleeves of his school blazer.

“Sure. But what is it that I need to do?” he grabs his winter coat and muffler, hefting his bag over one shoulder.

“You know, it’s the thing! That thing that I told you about yesterday. Um, just – we just need your help,” the two of them belt out an awkward and nervous laugh as they usher Akaashi out the door.

One of them looks over her shoulder and winks conspiratorially, while the other regular members of the volleyball club nod their heads at her, expression comically sober.

Bokuto struggles to pull his pants up his legs as he scrambles towards the door, spluttering a “Hey, Akaashi, wait for m–!” but is cut off when the door clicks shut and Sarukui calmly saunters forward to lock it.

Bokuto shimmies the pants up his legs with a final grunt and secures his belt, looking at Sarukui quizzically. He slowly rotates when he feels the weight of a few pairs of eyes on him, doing a full 360 degree, and sees that the regulars of the team have him surrounded, huddling around him with their arms folded across their chest. The rest of the team have already left.

“Um, guys? W-what’s up?”

Washio and Onaga come up to him, standing on either side, and Onaga murmurs a quiet “I’m sorry,” before they both hoist Bokuto off his feet and drag him to a chair, the grip on his arms unrelenting even as he is pushed down forcefully onto the chair.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” Bokuto demands, bewilderment rampant on his face. Flanked on either side by Onaga and Washio, he can’t even try to escape because he knows it’ll be futile.

Konoha steps forward and stands in front of Bokuto, one hip jutting out, arms still crossed.

“This is an emergency meeting,” he says breezily, as if that would serve as an explanation for everything. “Komi, bring me _the thing_.”

Komi goes to his bag and sifts through the contents, before he finally procures a flashlight and hands it to Konoha.

Konoha switches it on and directs the beam onto Bokuto’s face.

Bokuto groans and pinches his eyes shut, mouth twisted into a frown. “This feels more like an interrogation!” he argues.  

“It is what it is,” Sarukui says as he stands guard at the door.

“Alright. Time to answer a few questions, captain,” Konoha says, and Bokuto unwillingly cracks his eyes open, trying to adjust to the brightness of the flashlight.

“What’s going on between you and Akaashi?” Komi asks, glowering.

Bokuto quails.

“Well, captain?” Konoha prompts.

Bokuto manages a squeamish whimper, but then he clears his throat, diverting his gaze away, and stammers, “N-nothing is going on between us.”

Komi makes a honking noise that’s vexingly similar to the sound of a buzzer on a game show that blares off when a contestant gets a question wrong.

“What did you do to Akaashi?” Washio inquires, and Bokuto winces when he feels the cinch on his arm growing mercilessly tighter.

“I didn’t do anything!” he asserts, before falling quiet, his expression transitioning from defiance to contemplation before settling on begrudging defeat. “Well, uh… I _think_ I didn’t,” he admits meekly, voice sinking down a few notches.

“You _think_ you didn’t?” Onaga asks.

Bokuto licks his lips. “Well. I’ve thought really, super hard about it, and I can’t recall if I did something to tick him off. I mean, I properly apologized, but then he asked me if I knew why he’s upset and I said because I probably did something wrong? And then he just sighed, saying that I didn’t have to apologize. He said that himself but he’s still acting weird around me and it’s been a week and I’m so bummed out.” Bokuto slumps in his seat, eyes glazed over, his spiked up hair wilting with his spirit.

Konoha hums pensively. “A week huh? Around that time I saw Akaashi on the rooftop during lunch and he was kinda high-strung and a bit tense. That’s also the day that you guys started acting all strange.”

Sarukui strokes his chin in thought. “Bokuto, do you remember what you did or said that day?”

“A week ago?” Bokuto tries to get the gears in his head working as he filters his memories, “Well, I remember coming over to his class to eat lunch together – I do that everyday but that’s besides the point – and there’s this girl. She asked to talk to Akaashi in private, so he went off with her somewhere and after a while, Akaashi came back, looking really put off.” Bokuto’s face goes taut, his lips flattening into a hard line. “Apparently, she confessed.”

Konoha narrows his eyes. “And what did you say to him?”

Bokuto clenches his jaw. “I just… I told him he should go for it.”

Komi smacks his palm against his forehead, Sarukui throws his head back and sighs, Washio runs a hand down his face, Onaga exhales loudly through his nostrils and shakes his head, and Konoha clicks his tongue.

Bokuto glances around curiously, discombobulated at the reactions.

Konoha slouches over and leans in closer, flicking the flashlight on and off to punctuate his words. “You,” he says, “are an idiot.”

Bokuto gasps, offended. “That’s uncalled for. Any other day and I would’ve accepted that but I haven’t even done anything stupid today!”

“So let me get this straight,” Sarukui interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, “Akaashi received a confession, you told him to accept it, and then what?”

A crease forms between Bokuto’s eyebrows. “He was straight-faced, but I could tell that he didn’t like what he heard, because the next thing I knew was that he excused himself to the bathroom but never came back.”

Washio relinquishes his vice grip on Bokuto’s arm, sighing and messaging his temples. Onaga also releases his captain and takes a step back, scratching his neck. “Captain… I have to say that I’m seriously disappointed.”

“I don’t get what’s going on…?” Bokuto peers into everyone’s faces, trying to make sense of the situation but to no avail.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Konoha says with a look of incredulity.

“Yes, I’d like that, thanks,” Bokuto answers without a hint of snark or the intention to be impudent, which irks his teammates even more.

“Bokuto, I swear to god – why the fish would you tell your crush to date someone else?” Konoha snaps, hands flying around, “That’s like, very counterproductive.”

The room suddenly turns eerily quiet.

Everyone is looking at their captain, waiting for a response.

“How… how did you know that I have a crush on Akaashi?” Bokuto breathes out, disbelief and astonishment written all over his face.

Onaga has to physically restrain Komi from jumping and attacking Bokuto.  

Washio hears Sarukui whispering a prayer, pleading that they all be given strength.

Konoha thwacks Bokuto’s forehead and the latter squawks indignantly, rubbing at the sore spot. “Why do you have to be so violent?!”

“Why do you have to be so infuriating?” Konoha gripes.

“Look, Bokuto, you’re about as opaque as a glass door; it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re infatuated with Akaashi,” Sarukui clarifies patiently. “Besides, I think it’s harder to _not_ have a crush on him.” His voice goes quieter on the last part.

Komi wiggles out of the constraints of Onaga’s arms. “Dude, I totally get what you mean,” he agrees, bobbing his head.

“Can’t really blame Bokuto on this one, huh?” Konoha concedes, and Washio nods in a sagely manner.

Bokuto’s eyes flit from one person to the next, his mouth wrinkled in thought. “Wait a second,” he raises a hand, “Why does it sound like all of you have a crush on Akaashi?”

The rest of his teammates become very still. They start to shift their eyes around, some whistling while some fiddle with the knot of their ties.

Bokuto’s gaze sweeps around the room before he lodges on squinting and shooting each and every one of them his best and most piercing glare.

“I can’t believe you guys.”

Komi points a finger at Bokuto. “Hey, just because we’re sweet on Akaashi does _not_ mean that we’re crushing on hi –”

Sarukui aggressively elbows him in the stomach and he sputters a choked cough.

Clearing his throat, Konoha tries to appear diplomatic and serious when he says, “The point is, you need to fix this misunderstanding. Go out there and snag yourself a boyfriend. Seize the day. Spread your wings. Whatever it is that you need to do,” he flaps his hand lazily in what could be interpreted as a shooing motion or a half-assed gesticulation for flying.

Bokuto’s eyes glisten and widen with unabashed ardor, touched by his friends’ support, but then his expression morphs into one of repine and grim uncertainty.

“But what if he doesn’t like me back?” he mumbles.

“Dear child, we wouldn’t set you up for this if that were the case,” Konoha assures, and when Sarukui glares at him for the condescending lilt in his voice, he rolls his eyes, adding, “Trust us, this is gonna go well. We’re not _that_ mean.”

In line with Konoha’s inspiring words, all of them practically throw Bokuto out of the club room, Onaga cheering him on while the seniors threaten him by saying “You’d better make Akaashi happy _or else_ ,” or shout obscenities that run along the lines of “Go and _get some_.”  

Bokuto blubbers a heartfelt thanks, realizing what great comrades he has as he runs off to find Akaashi.

Konoha rolls his head and stretches his neck from side to side to mitigate the crick residing in his neck.

Beside him, Sarukui sighs, but it doesn’t sound enervated or disdainful in the least. “Worth the pain?”

Konoha shrugs. “All in a day’s work as part of the Akaashi Keiji Protection Brigade,” he replies, snickering.

“Please don’t make up such lame names and spout them in my presence,” Sarukui deadpans.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Akaashi,” Konoha retorts, lips curving upwards into a leer.

Komi wedges himself between them and bumps their shoulders playfully, “We did good!”

“They’re not together yet,” Sarukui reminds them.

Washio stares into the distance as he says, “This is the least we can do.”

Konoha directs his gaze in the same line of sight as Washio’s. “This shall be our legacy,” he says with incredible solemnity.

There is a moment of silence where all of them stare at a point of nothingness.

“A thousand yen says it’ll take at least a month before they get to second base,” Konoha says.

“I’d say two months,” Washio dismisses, shaking his head a little.

Komi snorts. “You guys are so naïve.” He holds up three fingers. “Three weeks.”

“I’ll go get the ledger,” Onaga offers.

“Sometimes I’m not sure if I like or hate you guys,” Sarukui says.

*

Akaashi my bae: Congratulations on your graduation.

Komi-yan: akaashi! thanks!

Konohairyarmpits: thanks. i’m glad we all graduated without a hitch lol

Sarukui: So you say, but our captain almost didn’t make it

Me: how dare you!!!

Tat-chan: Thank you, Akaashi. Good luck with running the new team.

Me: akaashi you’re definitely gonna do great!!!

Konohairyarmpits: yeah you’ll definitely, most certainly, unmistakably, undoubtedly do an even better job than bokuto

Sarukui: ↑ ↑ ↑

Me: konoha meet me in the pit

Onaga-kyun~: I’ve got your back, Akaashi-san!

Akaashi my bae: I want to say that I’m not going to miss you all but then I would be lying.

Komi-yan: omg akaashi! ;____;

Konohairyarmpits: i legit just shed a tear

Me: hey you guys

Me: you’re gonna think i’m being sappy and gross but

Me: don’t be strangers ok

Konohairyarmpits: people come and go but you can count on us to stick around and ruin your life

Konohairyarmpits: ;)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm experimenting with different styles to get back into the groove of writing but if i'm being honest, i just need an excuse to write a very self-indulgent fic about my owlbabies being attached to my main owlbaby 
> 
> also this was haphazardly written and i might've made some mistakes so feel free to give me a heads up!
> 
> you can find me at nakasomethingkun@tumblr if you wanna throw bricks at me


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